


There's a boy across the river (but alas, I cannot swim)

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FIFA World Cup 2018, Football, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Ivan, Ivan, what sort of name is that?





	There's a boy across the river (but alas, I cannot swim)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more of a "Rakitić is in love and can't help himself" fan but sad!Luka is kind of my aesthetic, I'm sorry. Also Luka looks like the kind of guy who would have problems expressing/admitting his feelings.
> 
> The title is from the song "Alas I cannot swim" by Laura Marling.
> 
> "There's a boy across the river but, alas, I cannot swim  
> And I never will get to put my arms around him"
> 
>  
> 
> As always, sorry for any mistakes in my English, and you can come scream at me at tumblr: slashandsports <3

Ivan is a drug that he can't stop taking, he's addictive and intoxicating and everything around him makes Luka's head spin. Life is much better when Ivan laughs, the days are brighter and his heart beats differently, he actually can feel it, it's almost as if can function only with Rakitić by his side.

Ivan is everything he's ever dreamt of, he's an angel, he's perfect, the sight of him makes Luka want to cry. He always thought he knew love, he'd dated a few girls and then he met Vanja and everything was amazing, the engagement, the wedding itself, the ceremony in the church - and Luka was sure something will eventually go wrong, as it always does in perfect situations.

There's his perfect dreamlike world where he lives, a successful footballer with his wife and kids, and there's everything he had thought he needed to be happy - but then there's Ivan and his smile and his blonde hair and his eyes that Luka could drown in - and everything else is fucked up, there's no room for affection, there's no room for real feelings - Ivan plays for Barça, they should probably be the example of rivalry, but he can't make himself fight against Ivan, not even for the ninety minutes game itself, his heart still hurts when he sees Ivan fall after some mischievous foul, and there's nothing he would rather do than help him get back on his feet and make sure he's okay.

When they play for different clubs, it's easier to keep the safe distance to make sure he doesn't lose control.

The World Cup is another story. 

 

 

_Ivan, Ivan, what sort of name is that?_

_Ivan_. It rolls so nicely on his tongue.

I- _van_. It's the way he can breathe out the second syllable while clenching his teeth and make it sound like a soft whimper, a cry for help, as his muscles tense and he leans against the shower wall; it's too hot in there, the water is still running and he can't hear anything else as he thrusts into his own hand one last time.

I- _van_.

 

 

He often dreams about sex with Ivan and there's no cure for that, he can't shake those images off and it feels terribly wrong when he wakes up in the middle of the night, breathing heavily, vivid images still in front of his eyes and with Rakitić sleeping in the other bed, blissfully unaware of what's going on in Luka's twisted mind - there's no excuse, no explanation. He wants his dreams to come true and that's all he can think of when he watches Ivan's chest rising and falling, that's all thinks of locked in the bathroom at three in the morning, chasing yet another orgasm, because one is simply not enough when it comes to Rakitić, and the thought of Ivan sleeping in the next room is equally arousing and sickening.

He'd like to try it, climb onto Ivan's bed and press himself against the younger man's body, pull his blanket down and kiss the back of his neck, jerk his hips and hug Ivan from behind, hold him really close and maybe even cover his mouth with his own hand - he'd love to see how he would react or what would he do, waking up like that -

He would fuck the shit out of him.

Instead, he spends a fair amount of time staring at his calm face, wondering what his lips taste like.

It wouldn't be a sin to steal one kiss, just _one small kiss_ \- it wouldn't hurt anyone -

One night, he got really close to fulfilling at least the most innocent part of his wild imagination, but crouching over Rakitić, he froze and couldn't bring himself to actually kissing him. It felt wrong, stealing anything from such precious lips - it felt like a rape, an attack on his dearest friend, the person he loved and cared about the most.

Moments later, he found himself in the bathroom again, this time choking at his own tears and trying not to throw up.

 

 

There are words "Raketa loves you" on the jersey he got from Ivan and it says exactly what Luka has always wanted to hear.

He'll never wear the shirt, that's for sure, it's not meant for wearing anyway, but he won't hang it on a wall in his house either.

He can remember exactly how he felt when Ivan was writing those three _damned_ words - the happy unbothered smile can never be forgotten, it hurt almost as much as losing the finals to France.

_Raketa loves you._

Ivan laughs and jokes about it, it's just an exaggeration, it's nice and sounds cute, but it doesn't mean anything.

Or does it?

Luka didn't dare to ask.

 

 

The night was filled with joyous singing and the voices of thousands of people cheering for them, and it was audiable even from the rooftop restaurant where they arrived for late night dinner, equally tired and drunk, to make the final cut behind this World Cup.

After a few more toasts and drunken speeches that everyone was required to make, Luka dragged Rakitić outside on the terrace where the air was filled with smoke from the fireworks, Ivan was still laughing at something Šime said like half a minute ago; he was laughing so much he spilled some of his wine. "Shit," he chuckled, smudging the small puddle with his right shoe, and Luka's grip of his shaky hand grew even tighter.

"Hey, be careful."

"Sorry," Ivan mumbled. His eyes finally found Luka's.

_So close, so fucking close - the parted lips practically begging to be kissed, how can he be so good-looking even now, when he smells of wine and sweat and his eyes are shining in his flushed face -_

Modrić's heartbeat was the one of an Olympic sprinter.

"You - are - so - drunk," Ivan exclaimed, laughing at every single word. "You're just - staring - "

_How could he not stare?_

"Hey, Luka. What's up? You've had too much, huh?"

He can't answer, he doesn't know how. There's his whole life, flashing before his eyes, and he can't say a word. He wants to go home to his wife and family, hang the medal on Ema's neck and sit down by the fireplace to be the good family man he has always been, and at the same time he wants to push Ivan agains't the wall, slide a hand down his pants and kiss him, feel his breath on his neck, hear him whimper and moan, tell him for how long he's been dreaming of doing this, he can actually imagine Rakitić's surprise and then - his own eagerness to move on with this, something like _"fuck, I've always wanted to do this"_ \- he'd give everything to hear him moan and even more to be the one who makes him.

Or Ivan could just easily push him away and storm off.

He can't risk it. He'd rather die hoping of him and Ivan becoming lovers than seeing it just can't be that way.

" - you're so pale," he hears Ivan finish a sentence, this time without any laugh; as concerned as one can be after drinking for more than six hours straight.

"I just wanted to say.... that I'm happy to be here - with you." It's the most he can  at this moment

This brings the smile back on Rakitić face, he pulls stiff Modrić into a careful hug with one hand, the other still holding the glass of wine. "It's been _my_ pleasure to play with you - You're a great guy - " Ivan lets out a little laugh, so close to Luka's ear. "It's been the best month of my life. Better than honeymoon."

He giggles and Modrić, with his chin pressed against Ivan's shoulder, fights back the tears.

_I love you - I love you and I don't know what to do now._

He wants to scream it, he wants to make sure Ivan hears him and understands how much he means it, but his throat is dry and clenched and no words can come out.

Rakitić smiles, kisses him on the right temple and lets go of him - "But you look really tired. We should go back or you'll fall asleep standing here " - and Luka nods sheepishly.

The floor tiles are becoming blurry before his eyes, he feels dizzy from the combination of wine and beer and this moment, this time it's him who stumbles and if it wasn't for Ivan he'd surely trip over but Ivan is there and his prompt reaction saves Luka from falling, he wraps his hand around Modrić's waist and helps him get his balance again.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Sure?"

" _Yeah_."


End file.
